The house of me

I’m trying to look through the window.

From where I am now, I can only see the glass reflecting things behind me, because I’m standing outside.

I have to go inside... It seems to me as if I had been standing outside of the house of me for a very long time, watching, observing. I had other people paint my walls. I should never have allowed them to do so, although they might have meant well... The house was not me and I didn’t feel comfortable in it.

I have to get in. I know that from the inside, I will have a better view. I will paint my own walls, and the house will be me; the windows will be my own eyes.
I will paint my own walls.

The shutters are open, now I can let the sun shine in. I can open the windows and let in the fresh wind.

Let the house be filled with life.